


Close Shave

by Bunnywest



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-25
Updated: 2017-05-26
Packaged: 2018-11-04 19:38:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10997613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bunnywest/pseuds/Bunnywest
Summary: He discovers that shaving Peter is turning him on.Shit. This could become a problem.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ashydoodles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashydoodles/gifts).



> This is a gift fic for Ashydoodles as a reward for guessing the name of Peter's bar in Rabbit 'verse.  
> The prompt was  
> "I've always liked magic Stiles and shop owner Stiles."  
> I wanted Stiles to have a tattoo shop, but he reminded me that he doesn't do needles dude, told me what he really wanted, and Barber Stiles came about.
> 
> I wholeheartedly apologise for the shop name. I'm sorry. (I'm not sorry)

Stiles turns on the lights, turns on the radio, turns the sign on the door to open, and promptly freaks out.

  
What the hell was he thinking?

He’s sunk every cent into this, and who the hell in Beacon Hills is even going to be interested in coming to Slash and Sideburn?

  
He’d fallen into hairdressing really, working  part time in a mixed salon while at college, and when the odd customer came in wanting a proper straight razor shave, somehow it had fallen to Stiles to provide the service.

The thing was, he was good at it. Like, _really_ good. Something in the rhythmic motion of the blade, the slip of the steel over the strop, calmed him to almost zen levels, and his shaves were precise and damn near perfect. 

It escalated from there to trimming goatees, creating sideburns worthy of David Tennant, learning the art of the stubble-beard. Stiles could do it all. Man buns, short back and sides, buzz cuts, undercuts, he was a master, and he loved it.

  
So when he graduated, and his father had surprised him with a decent chunk of cash, he decided there were a lot of worse ways to spend your day than touching up beards and looking at pretty men.  He’d accepted that women were for other people a while back, and was happily living the stereotype of a gay ~~hairdresser~~ barber.

  
So after two months of painting, renovating, hyperventilating, painting again because that first color was just wrong, today’s his opening day.  
And I mean, he hadn’t expected a queue at the door, (OK, he totally had expected a queue at the door, or at least his Dad to turn up for a trim) but still….

  
His freakout is interrupted by the bell over the door, and he looks up to see….well, sex on legs, really. Because Hot Damn, it’s the fuel for all of his teenage fantasies standing in front of him.

  
“Hello Stiles” croons Peter Hale.  
“Hey, Peter” he breathes out, trying for casual but coming off as asthmatic.

  
Professional work face, professional work face, he reminds himself, as he asks “What can I do for you today?”  
“Could I please have a dozen of your finest roses” Peter asks him smirking.  
“Dude, it’s not a florist, it’s a barber shop!” Stiles replies, and is this a joke?

  
Peter’s grin gets wider, and he snarks back “Oh really? Then I’d better have a haircut”.  
_Asshole_ thinks Stiles to himself as he leads Peter to the chair.

  
But all is forgiven as soon as he starts touching those glorious locks, because Peter…Peter has pornworthy hair. It’s longer than he normally keeps it, so there’s a wave and a bounce to it, and it’s oh so thick, Stiles finds himself hmmming as he strokes and tugs at it, lost in the sensation, until a familiar voice jerks his attention back – “Stiles, as much as I’m enjoying you getting off on my hair (shit, was he that obvious?) , is there any chance you could actually cut it? And also straight razor shave, dear boy. Take your time, I want to enjoy it”.

  
Stiles regretfully lets go of Peter’s pretty pretty hair, and he sets to work, and once he starts cutting, the concentration kicks in, and he’s in his own world as he snips and shaves and thins and styles, until at last he’s satisfied. He moves on to the goatee next, shaping and trimming until it’s flawless, making a satisfied noise and giving a nod when he’s done.

  
Peter looks in the mirror, pleased, and comments “Did you know, sweetheart, that you’re completely silent when you work? That level of focus is really quite beautiful to see”   and then he runs his hands through the styling just because he’s Peter, and he wants to see how Stiles will react.  
Stiles slaps his hands away with a small noise of disapproval, and suddenly he realizes that Peter’s right, he never speaks when he’s working. Maybe that’s because his brain is quiet then too?  
He grabs the old fashioned shaving kit, and lathers Peter’s throat up, then tilts his head back and begins the systematic process of shaving him smooth, long slow strokes, wipe the blade on the towel, stroke again, wipe again, in a hypnotic rhythm that he loves. He’s sad when it’s done, and from the look on Peter’s face, he is too.

  
He pays, and walks out saying “I’ll be back Stiles.”

  
He is.

  
He comes in every day for six weeks for a shave, and it becomes a ritual.

  
After a week, he starts to bring coffee with him for Stiles.

  
After two weeks, he brings him cakes to go with the coffee, and suddenly, before the shave, there’s coffee and cake, and conversation.

  
Stiles discovers he appreciates the quick to and fro of their conversation.

  
He discovers that he actually likes Peter when he isn’t trying to kill him or bite him.

  
He discovers that shaving Peter is turning him on.

  
Shit. This could become a problem.

  
And then, one day, Peter comes in for his shave, and Stiles isn’t out front, he’s in the back  doing paperwork, the nightmare of every small business owner.  
Peter comes through with their coffees and a delicious smelling coffee and walnut cake, puts it on the desk, looks at Stiles as he works through figures, and breathes out “You didn’t tell me you wore glasses. Holy Fuck”.

  
And Stiles has never heard Peter swear with such feeling, and he’s confused, because yeah, he’s wearing his glasses, square black framed hipster deals, but really, he doesn’t think they warrant the reaction Peter’s having.  
Peter though,….Peter is coming around behind the desk, and pulling him up by his shirt front, and kissing him hard, his other hand cupping the back of his head.  
Stiles thinks about pulling back for about half a second, but Peter’s hair is right there, and it’s getting a little longer again, and he can run his fingers through it, and it’s so good, and somebody is moaning, and he realizes that it’s him.

  
Peter finally pulls back, looks consideringly at Stiles, who is now adorably disheveled, and promptly disappears out the front.  
He’s back before Stiles even has a chance to register that he’s gone somewhere, and then he’s pushing back him back into his office chair, and why exactly is Peter Hale, aka the Hottest Man Alive between his legs?

  
“I locked the door and put up the closed for lunch sign, darling” smirks Peter, and Stiles doesn’t get a chance to protest that it’s ten in the morning before Peter’s hands are on the button of his jeans, undoing them and pulling his fly down.  
The passionate kiss has definitely had an impact on Stiles, and he’s half hard.  
“Oh, Stiles, this is just gorgeous” Peter grins, as he fondles Stiles.

  
He does stop for just a moment, though, to do something the old Peter Hale probably wouldn’t have done – he asks, “Stiles, is this OK? You can say no, sweetheart, although I’ll be very sad if you do”.

  
Stiles leans back with his eyes closed for a few seconds, and thinks of all his teenage fantasies, thinks of how Peter’s come in every day for coffee and a shave, thinks about how Peter calls him darling and sweetheart, thinks about the familiarity with which Peter had come out the back to find him, and then kissed him with such possessiveness, and asks “Peter, are we…dating?”

  
Peter raises an eyebrow and replies “Of course we are darling, who else would a wolf let near his throat with a straight razor except his mate?”  
Huh, thinks Stiles, Mate, and is surprisingly OK with it.  
  
“Well in that case, this is definitely OK” he indicates his exposed cock,which is twitching impatiently and still hardening.  
Peter leans forwards and takes him down in one smooth swallow, and the velvety heat of his mouth is heaven. Stiles buries his hands in that delicious hair, and starts to move  Peter’s head back and forth gently, tugging on his  now messy hair. That earns him a moan, which vibrates down his cock, causing him to moan in return. He can feel Peter grinning around him as he doubles his efforts and sucks harder, and hums a little.  
Stiles is fully hard by now, and is thrusting harder into Peter’s mouth, getting a steady rhythm going. He can feel the tightening at the base of his balls, and knows this won’t last long. He tugs on Peter’s hair in warning, gasping out “Peter!”  
Peter ignores him and simply bobs up and down faster, sucks a little harder, and Stiles is undone - he arches up a little and comes down Peter’s throat with a long groan.

  
He sits there for a minute, eyes closed, breathing heavily. He opens one eyelid, looks down at Peter and smirks – “So, you like the glasses huh?”

  
“Oh, darling, you have no idea” he rumbles, deep in his chest, as he picks Stiles up and deposits him over the desk, while pulling his jeans down the rest of the way, asking “Shall I show you how much?”  
And if Slash and Sideburn is closed for three hours for lunch at ten in the morning, Stiles just chalks it up to the perks of being your own boss.


	2. Closed for lunch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three hours is a hell of a long lunch break......

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You are all FILTHY enablers, this was a one shot dammit!

For somebody who deals with facial hair for a living, Stiles has apparently missed out on a few vital facts

  * There’s a definite specific texture to facial hair.
  * He has a thing for goatees scraping gently down his spine.
  * And across his ass



He finds out all three of those things at once as Peter lifts his shirt off over his head and proceeds to take his time licking and kissing his way down the length of Stile’s back, holding him in place with a hand between the shoulder blades as Stiles squirms and writhes.

“Peter! Stop! “He squeals, when the  sensation gets to be too much.

Peter lets him go then, and Stiles turns so he is sitting on the desk, naked, and draws the wolf towards him, slotting him into the space between his legs and putting his arms around his back, holding him in a loose hug.

“Peter, we need to talk a little first” he insists.

Peter rolls his eyes, and groans out a long exaggerated “ _Fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine_ ”, in a dramatic imitation of every teenager ever to have the Safe Sex talk with their parents.

 “No, dude, I’m serious, you can’t just tell me I’m your Mate, give me amazing head, and then bend me over the desk and fuck me. I’ve gotta be, like mentally prepared” Stiles insists, pushing his glasses up his nose in a move that does nothing for Peter’s self control.

He reaches out and slips the glasses from Stile’s face, placing them carefully on the desk, out of harm’s way.

“Stiles, how do you expect me to concentrate while you’re wearing those?” he purrs. “Now, will you tell me what’s worrying you, and _then_ I can fuck you over the desk?”

Stiles looks slightly affronted. “How do you even know I don’t top? “He challenges.

Peter arches a brow at him.

Stiles wilts under his gaze. “OK, fine, you got me, but still, it’s still rude to assume” he accuses; but there’s no real heat to his argument, and his hands are running gently through Peter’s hair like he’s stroking a kitten, so Peter thinks he’s really not that upset.

 “What would you like to know?” Peter asks. “Why I know you’re my mate? What that means? What happens now?”

“Yes!” Stiles exclaims. “All of that!……and _then_ we can get back to the good stuff”. He waggles his eyebrows at Peter , because talking is important, but sex is importanter…..

 

Peter reaches his arms up around Stiles neck and hmmmms to himself.

“Let’s see, when did I know you were my mate? The first time I came in and you spent ten minutes running your fingers through my hair. The aroma of a werewolf’s mate when aroused is very distinctive, it something you could never describe, but that a wolf instantly recognizes.”

“Whoa wait, there’s no _way_ I spent ten minutes playing with your hair!” Stiles protests.

“Sweetheart….you’re doing it right now.” Peter gently breaks it to him.

And sure enough, he’s no longer stroking Peter’s hair like a kitten, but instead twisting his fingers through the thick locks, tugging it, scritching his head, and leaving Peter’s normally carefully styled locks in an absolute mess, tangled and tousled and absolutely glorious.

Stiles deflates a little.

“So….me liking your hair makes us mates? “ he asks curiously.

“No darling, but the fact that I felt safe enough to let you near me with a straight razor is a pretty good indicator -  remember, I only came in for a cut that first day, but after I could smell how excited you were by my hair, my wolf and I decided you were it for me. So I’ve been courting you”

“Do I have to do anything? Are we getting bonded under a full moon where you bite my neck and leaving a mating mark, and then if we separate I die of pining?”

Stiles tries for light hearted, but Peter can hear that there’s actual concern there.

Peter looks into his eyes, and repeats his earlier statement. “Stiles. You can say no to being my mate, sweetheart, although I’ll be very sad if you do. We don’t mate under a full moon. I don’t bite you. You don’t pine. Nobody dies. We just date like a normal couple, apart from the fact that because we’re meant to be together, the sex is so much hotter.”

Oh, thinks Stiles, good to know. And he thinks, fuck it.

“So, the door’s locked huh?” he asks suggestively, and pulls Peter forwards again so that their bodies are pressed together. Then he proceeds to kiss him for long minutes, until he can feel his skin getting sensitive from the brush of Peter’s stubble. “In that case, how about we level the playing field and you get naked as well? I want everything off Peter Hale, because I’ll have you know I’ve been thinking about your body since I was a skinny seventeen year old that you were trying to bite”

“Oh Stiles,” grins Peter as he strips quickly, “with greatest pleasure. And if we’re done talking?” Stiles nods, “then I want you naked except for these” and he slips the glasses back onto his face, then leans back to look in appreciation.

Stiles doesn’t realise it, but just then he looks like an absolute wet dream. He’s still flushed from coming earlier, his cheeks are rosy and his hair mussed. He has the beginnings of beard burn on his face and neck, and Peter suddenly wants to make it worse. He leans in and licks a long stripe up the side of Stiles’ throat, and then starts nibbling, tender little bites, firm enough to sting, but not to bruise, mumbling under his breath “really want this, so hot,” and he can feel Stiles starting to harden up between them, so he brings his hand up to his mouth, and licks his palm (Stile’s mind supplies “My, what a long tongue you have Mr. Wolf”) and slides it between them, lining his own length up next to Stiles and putting his hand firmly around both.

He begins to stroke as he continues to kiss and lick, and Stiles just arches his back, exposing his throat, and lets Peter go to town on him.

Peter can feel the throb in his hand of Stile’s cock, encouraging him to go further.

He removes his hand and clasps them together under Stiles thighs and swings them around so that he’s got his ass perched on the edge of the desk, and Stiles in his lap.  He slides one hand between Stile’s ass cheeks, feeling his tight hole. He rubs across it gently and gets a moan in return.

“Stiles, sweetheart, you’ve done this before right?’ he murmurs  gently.

“Yeah, I’m good, just been a while” is the breathy reply.

He continues to rub gently across Stile’s hole, but it’s dry, and he thinks that the odds of Stiles carrying lube and a condom to work with him are slim to none. He refuses to use spit, because he has some class, after all.

“As lovely as this is, I think we’re going to need to get something to smooth the way” he sighs, and he sounds so dejected that Stiles simultaneously wants to laugh and buy him a puppy.

But instead, he leans against Peter’s chest and tells him, “hey,fun fact, the base for most hair oils is glycerin.”

Peter looks at him blankly, confused by the comment.

“The same base ingredient as lube” Stiles continues blithely, and suddenly Peter _gets_ it, and his whole face brightens as his expression goes from dejected to _hungry,_ in the time it takes to blink.

“Interesting” he growls, and reluctantly puts Stiles down when the younger man begins to make grabby hands in the direction of some stacked cartons near the door.

Stiles dashes over and digs into the boxes eagerly, adjusting his glasses as he reads the list of ingredients on the back of several bottles, and watching him looking over the top of them makes Peter whine a little, and he never even knew he _had_ a thing for glasses before now, dammit.

Stiles finally holds up a bottle triumphantly -  “All natural, no added scents or chemical nasties, this is the one “ he grins as he kneels there.

Peter is across the room in a flash, snatching the bottle from his hand and pressing him forwards onto his hands and knees, and then he’s kneeling behind him, and he’s absolutely desperate, and so he opens the bottle and pours it down Stiles’ lower back, bathing him in it, _anointing him_ , and he starts to massage the oil in and around his ass. He runs his hand up and down Stile’s slick crack, even as the young man moans out in pleasure, and he presses a finger slowly inside.

Stiles sucks in a sharp breath, and tenses up, but seconds later he’s relaxed enough for Peter to start rocking his finger gently in and out. He makes such a pretty picture, Peter thinks, with his head down and his ass up, skin shimmering with oil, panting and rocking back onto the finger inside him. Peter’s impatient, so he slips a second finger in sooner than he probably should, but he’s spent so long waiting for his mate, he doesn’t want to wait another second.

Stiles doesn’t seem to mind, if the moans and whimpers coming out of his mouth are anything to go by. His body is reacting to Peter’s touch, he’s so aroused by just two fingers, that he’s pleading and asking for more even as Peter starts to scissor him open.

“Soon, Stiles, soon” Peter promises. “Just have to take care of you first sweetheart” he croons, as he hooks his fingers around, searching for Stile’s prostate. The sharp cry of  “Ah! Fuck!” tells him he’s found it.

He rubs his fingers relentlessly over the nub of flesh until Stiles is panting and pleading, and Peter’s aroused beyond belief, and he knows he should probably stretch Stiles more, but he’s _asking_ for it, and who is Peter to deny his mate?

He kneels up behind Stiles, and aims his cock, slick and dripping, up against the cherry red pucker, and presses forwards. His head pops in, and he waits a moment before he presses forwards at a nod from Stiles and a strangled “keep going!”

It feels _good_ as he slides in, as he bottoms out, as he starts thrusting, and judging by the noises he’s making, it feels good to Stiles too.

They build up a steady pace, a few hitches and starts as they learn the rhythm of each other’s bodies, a few moments where Stiles slides forwards across the floor a little because his knees are slick with oil and Peter’s thrusting too hard, but they laugh through it, after all, this is sex, it’s meant to be fun, it’s not life or death.

Finally, Peter pulls out and whispers to Stiles “I need to see your face. Please. “ And it’s so heartfelt, that Stiles can’t say no.

He flips over easily onto his back, settling his legs wide and pulling Peter back down so their bodies are pressed together.

It’s better, they slot into place like pieces of a puzzle, and then Peter’s back inside and thrusting hard, and Stiles doesn’t slide this time, because Peter has a bruising grip on his hips and he’s going _nowhere_ fast.

The new angle means his prostate is getting a workout, and suddenly he’s so close, he’s whimpering out “peterpeterpeter”.

The cries drive the wolf to the edge, and he pumps in and out harder, all the while transfixed by those damn glasses. There’s a tiny smudge of  oil on one of the lenses, in the shape of a fingerprint, and Peter thinks to himself, ‘Oil from his ass” and that’s it, he’s gone, over the edge, tumbling, tumbling, falling into bliss.

He grinds forwards hard as he comes, and the feeling of him swelling and filling his ass is all it takes for Stiles to follow him into that place, crying out his release.

For a while there’s nothing but heavy breathing, both of them lost in the sensations where their bodies are joined, coming down slowly, in no hurry to move.

Stiles finally nudges Peter, saying ”Hey man, you’re fucking heavy. Get off.”

Peter moves, but he grouses as he does, “now darling, is that any way to speak to your mate?’

“Nope” Stiles agrees cheerfully, still slightly loopy from two frankly sensational orgasms.  But it is a great way to speak to the asshole that poured a bottle of oil on my good floorboards. You’re cleaning that up, by the way. Now come here so I can play with your sexy wolf hair some more and you can tell me I’m pretty in my glasses.” 

They finally move off the floor, because romance is all well and good but they’re cold and sticky and uncomfortable. After they clean up a little and redress,  Stiles cleans his glasses while Peter looks on in frank appreciation.

And then, because it’s ritual, it’s a straight cut shave for Peter.  And if he stays dozing in the chair for an hour afterwards while Stiles plays with his hair, so sue him; it’s been an exhausting day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The things I do for you people.   
> Now my search history contains "Can you use hair oil as lube". I feel so dirty.


End file.
